Voldemort's HistoryMaking Campaign of the Century
by faballa
Summary: In his quest for love, Voldemort finds the one way to make everyone adore him. He'll run for president! Everyone loves presidential candidates, right? But what happens when the people start to like his opponent, the most repulsive man ever, more than him?
1. Chapter 1: Voldie's Decision

**Disclaimer: **I, in no way, own or created any of these characters.

**A/N: **This story is not meant to be taken seriously. It is not a parody of the current presidential election. Voldemort is not supposed to symbolize McCain, or Obama, or any other candidate, or Bush. Flames from offended readers will either be disregarded or sent to all my friends.

--

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort thundered, upon entering the Malfoy Manor. A few tiny Death Eaters scrambled away from him. Sheepishly, Bellatrix Lestrange, his most trusted and adored follower, approached him.

"My Lord?" she asked tentatively.

"Bellatrix, I've failed again!" he moaned dramatically, collapsing into one of Lucius's many, fluffy armchairs. Bellatrix had to wonder if Narcissa had chosen it out; pink velvet never seemed like Lucius's upholstery of choice. "He slipped through my fingers, that greasy brat! How shall I continue on?"

"Well," Bella said reasonably, "we could see what we did wrong, and then go back and try to fix it."

"Oh, it's no use!" Voldemort wailed. He looked very close to tears. "Bellatrix, dear, sweet, loving Bellatrix," she preened a bit, "I have a confession for you," he whispered.

"Oh, My Lord, I feel the same way!" she gasped. "I'll tell Rodolphus, we can be divorce by tomorrow, and you and I can spend the rest of our lives together as outlaws in Italy!"

"What? No. What the hell are you talking about? Stop talking!" Bella felt as though Christmas was canceled, and she wouldn't be able to sit on Voldemort's lap and tell him that she wanted world domination and some scented candles. But, evermore, she quieted. "I was distracted today," he said miserably. "You see, before we went to kill Harry as he left his beloved aunt's house, I went shopping."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and I was walking down the streets, and all of the people were running from me, screaming and sobbing, and that's when I realized it," his red eyes really were brimming with tears now, "nobody loves me."

"I—"

"Shut up, Bellatrix! As I was saying," he whimpered, "none of my people love me. I'm their leader, and, and, it's like they don't think I could do a good job? Is that all I am to them, a murderer?"

"We could kill everyone who's afraid of you," Bella said kindly.

"No, that won't do at all!" he sobbed. Then he stopped, his eyes lighting up dramatically. "I should run for president!"

"My Lord, we don't _have_ presidents. And we already have Thicknesse as the minister, I don't think…"

"Bellatrix, stop talking! In Wizarding America they have a president, and the people always choose him! That means, when they choose me, they'll have to love me! That's how democracy works!"

"My Lord," Bellatrix said gently, "no, that's not how it works in America. You have to have to people running for the presidency. And we've had Ministers of Magic for over a thousand years! Wizards didn't even come to America until the eighteen-hundreds."

"Bellatrix, as my first act as president, I am revoking your freedom of speech. But until then, you and your vast knowledge of politics could help me. Now, I need an opponent, yes?" Bella nodded, feeling disconcerted. "Hmm, tell me, who is the most utterly repulsive, least lovable person you know?"

--

Severus Snape was sitting with his nose so close to Dumbledore's desk, so completely engrossed in whatever he was reading, that he didn't notice Bellatrix's head pop into his fireplace. She waited for a moment, but when he didn't look up, she called out, "Snape! Get your head out of your pornography!" Well, he darted up so quickly he knocked his lamp of his desk and the floor caught fire!

"Was that really necessary?" he hissed, extinguishing the flames with a jet of cool water. Bella grinned proudly.

"Voldemort has a proposition for you," she said, her catlike grin not fading.

"Well, tell him I'm sorry, but with my wedding to Umbridge fast approaching, I really can't take on any more lovers."

"You are such a prat, you know that?" she snapped. He leered at her. "He wants you to run for president." Snape's leer faded into a look of utmost confusion.

"We don't _have _presidents. Or campaigns. The Minister's _appointed._"

"Well, he wants to be elected by the people. For some reason, he wants them to love him."

"Then that's his problem. What do I have to do with it?"

"He wants a fair election, you see. So you need to run against him. But if you when, he'll kill you and take over."

"That's not how it works."

"I don't care! You're running for bloody president."

"Why aren't you his opponent?" Snape asked coyly. For a moment, Bella scowled, but she quickly recovered herself.

"He's looking for someone _really _repulsive."

"I hate you." He sighed, "I haven't a choice, do I?"  
"Nope!" she cheered. "But good luck anyway!" Happily, she pulled her head out of the fire and bounced over to Voldemort. "He agreed!" she cheered.

"Excellent," he said darkly, turning so he was back-lit by the fire. "Step one in my twelve-step plan is complete. Today, we celebrate; tomorrow, we campaign!"

--

**A/N: **Good? Bad? Should I keep going? Please review!


	2. Chapter 2: Campaigning

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **I also do not own Ace Ventura, or his hair, or any Forrest Gump lines.

--

"Ah, Bellatrix," Voldemort said, as he primped in front of the mirror "Yesterday was stressful, yes? I'm sure today will be better." Bella stared at him from Lucius's bright pink chair. In preparation for his campaigning, Voldemort had dressed himself in a rather tacky, powder blue tuxedo. It was so eighties. Even worse, he'd dove into Narcissa's makeup collection, spreading blush and bronzer all over his face to give himself some "much needed coloring." In reality, it looked like he'd suffered some third-degree burns, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"Yes, My Lord," she said dutifully, "I'm sure you're campaigning will go quite well." Voldemort had enlisted her as his campaign manager until he decided to revoke her freedom of speech.

"Something's missing," he said distantly, staring at his shiny, powder-coated scalp. "Bellatrix, fancy me a wig. And I don't want a girly hairstyle like Lucius has; I need something that is a true statement of my power. I want something like…" He thought for a moment, "Ace Ventura."

"Sir, you've got to be kidding—" He silenced her, holding up the palm of his hand.

"Bellatrix, when I say give me hair like the greatest detective of all time, I mean it!" he roared. Bella flinched, but diligently set to work, spinning a large, hair gel-infused cowlick upon the crest of Voldemort's forehead. "Lovely, truly lovely. Yes, Bellatrix, this is the hair of the future of the Wizarding World. Remember, it's all in the hairdo." Bella nodded numbly. "What are you doing? Write that down!"

"Yes, My Lord." She grabbed the designated campaign manager clipboard and wrote it down.

"Now, my political party needs a name. I want to do away with this system of Republicrats and Democans and whatnot. Such silly names. Yes, my party shall be called the Venturites! After our great leader, Ace, of course."

"Yes, My Lord."

"After we go campaigning, I want you to contact Snape, and tell him he has to choose a name for his party. But it can't be Venturites, because that's my name." He looked at her expectantly. "Well? Right that down!"

"_Can'…be…Venturites,"_ she mumbled, scribbling on her paper. "Got it."

"Wonderful. How long do I have to wait until I'm president?"

"Well," she began, choosing her word carefully. "First you have to decide your stances on some pressing political issues. Like Muggle rights." Voldemort snorted through his little slit of a nose.

"I say kill them all." His eyes lit up, "Do I get to do this for everything? I just say what I think of it, and when I become president, they'll have to do what I say and like it?"

"Kind of, My Lord, but there are some people who—"

"This is fantastic! All right, no more Muggle rights. And women too. They've gotten to uppity with their 'equal pay' and having 'equal partnerships' with men and so on. Just look at you!" Bella glared at him from over her clipboard, but he was too enthralled to notice. "From now on, women aren't allowed to speak, unless they're adoring men. And every week every woman in the United Kingdom must send me a pie. I never got pies when I was younger," he said miserably.

Bella just nodded.

--

"…and now he wants me to be his opponent because supposedly I'm the vilest creature Bellatrix could think of," Snape finished dejectedly. Dumbledore (well, Dumbledore's portrait) nodded understandingly. "So really, I don't know what to do! Do I run against him, and get killed, or do I do nothing, and get killed?"

"Well, Severus, life is like a box of chocolates," Dumbledore said sagely, tenting his fingers together. "You never know what you're going to get."

"Sir, you're quoting films again."

"Am I? It must be my old age. I don't think I've ever even seen a film!" he said cheerfully. Snape's stomach slowly sank. "But really, Severus, you don't know he's going to _kill _you. It could just be a mild flaying, or a defenestration!"

"Those could easily kill me, and they'd probably be more fun to watch than just a killing curse." Dumbledore smiled brightly. "I hate my life," Snape muttered.

"What you need to do, Severus, is build up a team!" Snape's scowl contorted into a rather grotesque look of confusion. "You know, a vice president, a secretary of state, a secretary of defense, all those good people!"

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, how do you know all this?"

"Oh, come now, Severus, old chap. Old Voldie's not the only one who's planned to take over the world!"

--

"Hello, my name is the Great and Almighty Dark Lord Voldemort, and I'm running for All-Powerful Ruler of All the Earth," Bellatrix stepped on his foot lightly. "Ahem, I mean, 'president.' May I count on your votes?" He looked expectantly at his newest supporters, a short, blonde witch and her two short, blonde children. The mortified mother's jaw was completely slack, and her eyes were nearing dinner-plate size.

"Mummy?" one of the little children, who looked very kickable to Bella, whined softly.

"Run," she said quickly. "Run, and never look back." The blonde woman and her two kickable children sprinted away from Bella and Voldemort, their packages tumbling from their arms and onto the street. Voldemort's lower lip twitched.

"Bellatrix?" he whined. "Why don't people like me? I have the hair!" Bella looked at him, taking in his ridiculous haircut, blue tuxedo, and overly bronzed face.

"My Lord," she said softly, "I think you need a makeover."

--


	3. Chapter 3: Makeovers

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks so much for all the reviews!

--

"Bella and Snape pull into a sweaty embrace, their lust pounding with the force of a thousand drums. He reaches up and ever so gently nibbles her ear. "Oh, Severus!" she moans, her normally pale cheeks flushed with desire. In one swift movement, he _tears_ off her robes…"

"And then what happened?" Ron asked desperately as he, Harry, and Hermione trod through the castle's deserted hallways. Hermione looked up at him, surprised.

"Well, that's the part that he's going to tell us! Honestly, why else would he have sent an owl, practically begging for us to come and visit?"

"So he could murder us," Harry said morosely, staring at the floor. "Really, Hermione, you have to lay off the romance novels." Hermione didn't say anything, but she did turn rather pink.

"Wait, but, if he's going to murder us, why are we here? Couldn't we just turn around and run out?"

"But Ron," Hermione protested, "he asked so nicely."

Snape was waiting for the three of them at the gargoyles guarding his office. Upon seeing him, Hermione burst into a grin and waved rather girlishly. "What're you doing?" Harry hissed.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry, Harry. I just get a bit…excited. Being back at school and all."

"Harry, Hermione…Ron." Snape greeted them, then turned to Hermione and whispered, "I didn't invite _him _along." She shrugged. He continued, "I have horrible news for all of you."

When Harry and Ron stayed silent, Hermione piped up, "What is it, Professor Snape?"

"Voldemort has decided to run for president."

"What?!" exclaimed Ron. "Why the fuck would he do that?"

"Well, I don't know, but—"

"Seriously! He just took over the Ministry! This won't give him more power! If anything, it takes power away!"

"Ron, I realize—"

"And it's so freaking unnecessary! For God's sake, why doesn't he try to conquer Switzerland or something?"

"Look, I know it's strange," Snape said calmly. "But he's doing it, and he's chosen me to run against him—"

"What? Seriously? He chose his opponent? That doesn't even make sense! I don't think it's even legal!"

"Weasley, shut up!" Snape snapped. "Anyway I need your help."

"We refuse," Harry said icily.

"You'll like what you're doing," he tempted. "I need you to help me fake my own death."

"I want no part of this political atrocity," Ron growled. "I'm going home. Harry, Hermione?" But Harry and Hermione were staring at Snape, their eyes positively shining.

Harry finally spoke, "How badly punished will we be if we actually—I mean 'accidentally'—kill you?"

--

"Bellatrix, could you please tell me why shopping at this store will help make people love me?" Voldemort asked, staring at the bright letters and racks of colorful clothes.

"We want you to appeal to this generation's voters. And this is where this generation shops!"

"But what is an 'H&M'? Is it like S&M? Because if it is, running for president just got a whole lot better." He rampaged through the store, leaving Bellatrix behind him. Brightly colored scarves were wrapped about his neck! Trousers of all different colors and textures! Shirts with patterns and material that felt like butter on his skin!

"My Lord!" Bellatrix called after him. "My Lord, you're in the women's section!"

But he was too much in love with these new clothes to care. Scooping up everything in his size, two, in his arms he danced over to a very tan salesgirl. "Miss! Please buy all of these for me! Oh, this is the bestest day of my life!" The frightened salesgirl took the stack of clothing in shaking arms.

"S-sir," she stuttered. "M-maybe you'd like to look in t-t-the men's section."

"Look," he growled, reading her nametag, "Mandy. I am a very busy man. And you will ring up my linen trousers, and my violet neck scarf, and anything else I choose! Why? Because I, the great Dark Lord Voldemort, shall soon become the leader of this God-forsaken country!" The salesgirl quickly rang up Voldemort's purchases whilst he admired the assorted hair decorations and umbrellas near the counter. "Thank you," he said coolly as she handed him the bag. He turned back to Bella, "Come, Bellatrix, let's go get a Cinnabon."

--

"Hermione, I hate you," Snape said in disgust.

"I know it seems bad now, but you'll need a disguise after you fake your own death." She handed him a polo, this one light pink with darker red horizontal stripes crossing over it.

"But why did we have to find my disguise at the Gap?" He opened the door to the dressing room, revealing a Snape dressed in the polo, a pair of chinos, and loafers. His hair was cut short and died red and Hermione had painted on a nice mustache.

"Well, let's examine the plan once more. We're going to put you in a car, cut said car's brakes, and put you on a long stretch of road with a brick building at the end. We've charmed the car so any minor collision will cause it to burst into flames. If you survive your inevitable crash, you'll move to Windsor and start your new life as a Muggle named Carl Landorff. Maybe we'll find you a wife."

"If you don't survive," Harry added, "at least Voldie doesn't get the pleasure of killing you!"

"I honestly don't see anywhere this plan could go wrong," Snape muttered. Hermione smiled kindly at him.

"I think you need an oxford!"

--

"So the plan didn't work?" Hermione asked sympathetically. Snape was lying in a hospital bed, both his legs in tractions, his head wrapped in bandages, and his arms were covered in burn scars.

"No," he sighed.

"And you still have to run for president?"

"Yes."

"Because Voldemort found out you're really alive?"

"He's the one footing my medical bills."  
"Oh," she thought for a second. "Professor, we have free medical care."

"Damn it."

--


	4. Chapter 4: The Debate

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other various movies/plays/musicals/books referenced in this chapter

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other various movies/plays/musicals/books referenced in this chapter!

--

Voldemort was, once again, musing. Bella was always rather on edge when dear Voldie got into one of his funks. She'd watch with trepidation as he sat in Lucius's pink armchair, sipping a nice glass of Chianti. She often felt compelled to offer him some fava beans and liver, but doubted he'd get the joke.

"Bellatrix," he finally said; a flush rising in his ghostly cheeks, "it's become time for me to choose a running mate."

"Um," she said.

"Although Severus seems adamant in his desire to commit suicide and escape our impending debates, I don't think I can win this alone. I need someone by my side, to hold my hand as I walk forward into my rule as the Venturite president. Someone who swears to be by my side, to stay with me for better or for worse, in sickness and in health—"

"My Lord," she interrupted, a rare feat, "that's not what a running mate does."

Voldemort looked at her, shock slowly registering on his face. "It isn't?" he gasped.

"No," she shook her head. "Sir, what you're describing is a wife."

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "You know, Bellatrix, I think I need someone who can do both." Bella tried to smile, but inside her stomach was sinking. Snape kept leaping off of bridges and driving into walls and other Death Eaters had begun to make fun of her for being the campaign manager to a man who wore women's trousers. She wasn't sure she wanted to be his vice president.

"I suppose I could do it, sir," she finally forced out.

"Nonsense!" he cried. "I can't have a _woman _as my running mate! I need someone with a strong, tough outer shell, but who will also be subservient, good at baking, and adoring. I need," he paused dramatically, "Lucius Malfoy!"

--

"I hate to say this," Hermione said sadly, looking up from her designated campaign manager's clipboard, "but you've become more and more popular since you started trying to fake your own death." Snape slowly let his chin slide off his hands and come to rest on the mahogany desk. "Voldemort's scheduled a debate tomorrow."

"What do you mean, he's scheduled a debate?" Snape finally looked up. No matter how many bridges he leapt off of, life didn't seem to want to let him die. "I don't have any political opinions!"

"Make some up," Hermione suggested.

"Or better yet," added Harry, "agree with everything Voldemort says. Make sure to tell him you love him. Repeatedly. Everyone wants to know they're loved."

"You're not getting out of this," Hermione said sternly. She looked down at her clipboard once more. "Oh, and he wants you to announce your 'Veep' choice."

"What the hell is a veep?" Ron broke in angrily. "Honestly! You're all treating politics like its some spectator sport! For Merlin's sake, politicians used to be respected and revered like gods! Now they're no better than Celestina Warbeck! Think of Caesar!"

"So you're saying we should gather a group of people and stab him twenty-three times in the chest?" Hermione asked dryly. Ron scowled and slunk back to his corner. She turned back to Snape, "He means your VP." He looked at her blankly. "Vice president," she clarified.

"Well of course that would be me," Harry said proudly, puffing out his chest. "Now, who am I running against?"

Hermione turned back to her clipboard. "The lovely, delicate flower that is Lucius Malfoy."

--

Lucius Malfoy was truly the most gorgeous thing to ever exist in the history of time. Herbal Essence kept his hair shiny and golden blonde with only the slightest curl around the ends. His skin was always pumiced to gleaming perfection, and his smiled could outshine the sun. Men and women fell at his feet, begging for a glimpse of his beauty, that perhaps he may shine on them for just a day, just an _hour. _And of course he could sing and dance and win the hearts of any judge. And everyday he got even better looking and more talented. And as he watched himself in his dressing room mirror, he knew that tonight, the night of the big debate, was the night he was shine.

"Lucius get your fat arse to the podium before I kill you!" Voldemort sing-songed as he skipped past the door. He was just jealous. His hair wasn't as sexy as Lucius's.

But still, he had to trot out after his master. The bright stage held dear Voldie, their plush podium, and two men whom he'd initially figured were homeless. Why would homeless men be at his show? But then his eyesight readjusted and he realized that the homeless men were in fact his opponents. Their hair was not sexy, and their podium was not plush. How _gauche_.

Voldemort cleared his throat loudly, "We come here today to debate the ever-popular question: Who is going to be the best president? The answer: Me. And I have many, many reasons why. For one, I can tap dance. Severus Snape cannot tap dance. I have seen him try it whilst he was drunk, and it was a sad, sad show. Also, Severus drinks."

"Um, objection!" Snape said weakly. A small crowd of witches and wizards had gathered to watch the "debate." "I don't drink. I've also never tried tap dancing. And I've never seen the Dark Lord do it either."

"Shut up, Severus," Voldemort snapped. Lucius examined his nails. When would he get to do his jazz number? "Another reason why I would be the better president is that Severus Snape is a dirty liar. Also, he kills puppies."

"I never did that!"

"Shut up!"

"Dear gods!" Harry finally interrupted from his place as vice president. He turned to face the growing crowd. "Can any of you actually believe what you're hearing? This man killed dozens of people—including his own father!" Voldemort shrugged and nodded earnestly.  
"I have made some mistakes," he said solemnly, "but I think that, in the eyes of Merlin, I deserve a second chance." The crowd applauded quietly. One witch wiped a tear from her eye.

"No, he doesn't!" Harry yelled. "He's the definition of crazy, elderly, socio-path! And Snape's not that great a choice either! He killed Dumbledore!"

"Harry," Voldemort whispered. "You're so young. But even you should know that this cruel streak of yours will only bring harm and destruction."

"You're one to—oh, fuck it." The crowd gasped at his foul language. "I'm starting my own party."

--


	5. Chapter 5: The Triumvirate of Awesome

**A/N: **There are so many copyright infringements in this story it's not even funny. At least I'm not parodying Joe the Plumber. I own nothing!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So Potter is our new enemy," Voldemort said thoughtfully, as he scratched his chin and swirled his glass of Chianti. He'd begun to drink the stuff by the bottle. His wig was crooked and his normally piercing red eyes had faded to a conjunctivitic pink. Not that conjunctivitic was a real word, but then again, neither is Venturite.

"Actually, My Lord, Potter's been your enemy for roughly seventeen years." Bella sighed. Ever since last week's disastrous debate, things had been going downhill, and fast. Harry had been quick to send out the hate adds, saying, "Voldemort is an evil, crazy, demented old man! For God's sake, don't vote for him!" and, "Vote for Potter, the only candidate who has yet to kill a man." Voldemort stopped swirling his liquor.

"True," he said pointedly. "But alas! He hath now become our enemy in the revered dance of the political spectrum!" He waltzed over to the window, the wine spilling out of its glass.

"What's Voldie doing?" Lucius asked quietly as he wandered into the room, eating cookies. Good God, the man was getting fat.

"He's waxing poetic," Bella sighed, tapping her clipboard with her fingernails. "…again."

"Oh, hark! How the rose e'er bloom! It is the east, and I am the west!"

"How much has he been drinking?" asked Lucius, as he examined the mounds of empty bottles on the floor.

"Quite a bit. But it's all right, you know. I got an in with a vineyard in California." Lucius smirked.

"Because really, what's better than a psychotic, senile, drunken murderer running for office?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How do I have the lowest percent of votes?" Harry screamed. The tallies had come in; Snape was leading the way with forty-one percent of the votes, Voldie had thirty-three percent, and Harry was in last place with twenty percent.

Ron looked up from his designated campaign manager clipboard. "Well, you haven't named a vice president; all of your advertisements have been horribly insulting to your opponents; and you keep comparing Voldemort to various dictators throughout history, which is really quite a horrendous thing to do. No one cares if his speeches are remnant to those of Ivan the Terrible or Napoleon Bonaparte. All you're doing is making yourself look like a sore loser."

"But why am I not winning?" Harry whined obnoxiously.

"Well, technically you can't even join Parliament, since you're only seventeen. People are probably looking for someone a little bit older. _And perhaps a bit less whiny,_" he added under his breath. "Anyway, no one ever votes for third-party candidates. Bill tried, but Fleur just yelled at him for 'throwing away' his vote. Maybe next election you should join a real party."

"I need a gimmick," muttered Harry, completely ignoring Ron. "Voldie's a murderer and Snape keeps trying to kill himself…Do you think I should become a stripper?"

"No."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I had the dream again," said a morose Snape as he stared at his desk, the shadows of those who'd come before him cast over his hands. To his left was a clock. The second hand would tick forward for four seconds, and then backwards for two. On his left was an unopened bottle of brandy.

"Did you?" Hermione asked noncommittally, tapping her new Montblanc Boheme pen against the mahogany wood of her clipboard. She'd spared no expense when it came to this campaign.

"Yes," he sighed deeply. "I'm in the alley, surrounded by the blue roses. I can't step, or I'll crush the delicate beauty. Then the lightning flashes and I can see my reflection in one of the buildings, and I realize that I am not among the blue roses, but I truly am a blue rose. And then I wake up screaming and sobbing for my mother."

"Do you?" He nodded. "Alright. Do me a favor and don't repeat any of that to the press."

"We've had one interview. It was with the school paper."

"Yes, and we want them on our side!"

"You're head editor, Hermione."

She ignored him. "I spoke with Ron today. We're meeting him and Harry down in London tomorrow afternoon. They want to talk about the election, which is scheduled for…" she examined her notes, "…last week."

"What does Harry want to talk about?" Snape sighed. The pressures of the world we're getting far too great. Perhaps he'd just have to kill someone again. That was always a great stress reliever.

"Oh, Harry doesn't know," Hermione said dryly. "Ron told him they were going out for ice cream."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bellatrix, you promised me we were going to get ice cream!" Voldemort was whining at the top of his voice. Bella had never noticed before, but he did sound quite a bit like a child when he wanted to.

"We will," she said through clenched teeth. "But first we have a little meeting to attend."

"You know, Bellatrix," he said impetuously, "next time you take me out, perhaps you should tell me _the entire_ itinerary."

"Perhaps so," she muttered tensely. Off in the distance she heard, "This doesn't look like quite the right place to get ice cream, Ron." It was quite true; the meeting had been scheduled in an old, abandoned football field, littered with cigarette butts. Really, not quite the best place for an ice cream vendor to set up shop.

"Oh trust me Harry, it's here."

"But I don't _see_ it!"

"Oh dear gods, Hermione, I thought you were kidding." Snape's voice joined the mix as he and Hermione apparated onto the dead grass. She looked at him sternly. "It's not like I picked the location, professor."

"If you had, I would fail you. Repeatedly."

When the three couples came into view, Hermione was rolling her eyes, Voldemort was pouting, and Harry and Snape were both searching: One for ice cream, and one for an escape route. Suddenly a loud, high-pitched screech echoed around the field. Everyone turned and saw Voldemort gasping and pointing at Snape.

"_Him!_" he squeaked. "Bellatrix, you told me you weren't going to let him ruin my special day!" Bella rolled her eyes and looked very much like she'd like to hit Voldie.

Harry, too, had become upset with the situation, and started doing what he did best. "Ron," he whined. "You promised me Hermione was the only person coming with! Now we won't be able to get a booth."

"You too!" Voldemort yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "You're a stupid jerk, you know. You've been spreading lies about me!"

"No I haven't," he protested. "Everything I've said is true. You're a mass murderer who isn't fit to rule a fish tank, much less a nation. Not to mention you're completely mad and wanted in twelve countries!"

"You told them I was bald," he snapped in a hushed tone. He stroked his hair lovingly, "I am not bald, and to say those things about me, you—you are simply a cruel man who clearly takes pleasure in the pain of others."

"Oh, for hell's sake!" Harry yelled. He walked up to Voldemort and ripped the poof of hair right off of his head, "It's not even real hair! I think it's made from a raccoon!"

"Gentlemen!" finally Snape was speaking up. He stepped in between the two, um, "men." Voldemort looked like he was either going to cry or take a swing at Harry. "I'm sure we can work this out like adults."

"You're right," said Voldie, snatching his hair back from Harry. "But let us step away from the ladies," he gestured towards Hermione, Bellatrix, and Ron. "Such discussions should not fall on their delicate ears."

The three candidates walked to the other side of the footie field while Hermione mouthed _"Lady"_ at Ron and tried not to laugh out loud as his face turned nearly purple.

It was nearly a half-hour before the three disbanded, each looking equally satisfied. "We have come to an agreement!" Voldemort announced.

"In twenty-three minutes?"

"Shut up, Hermione," he growled. "Anyway, everyone except for Little-Miss-Skeptic, we have decided to form a triumvirate," he finished proudly. Ron, Hermione, and Bella looked at him, slack-jawed.

"My Lord, are you saying you decided to enact a new system of government?"

"Yes."

"In twenty-three minutes."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's worked well in the past."

"Until someone gets stabbed twenty-three times," Ron muttered.

"Look," Harry snapped. "We know you have your doubts, but this is the best political setup. _Ever. _What could possibly go wrong?"

"I hate it when he says that," Hermione and Ron mumbled at the same time."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Twenty-Three hours later. _

"I must say, of all the things that could have happened, I did not picture this." Bella sounded almost as though she was in awe. Now, one must understand that, before this point in her life, Bellatrix Lestrange had never been impressed with anything. Even Baskin-Robbins' thirty-two flavors had only thoroughly amused her. But now, from her seat in the Quidditch field-turned-Coliseum, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione, she felt a surge of astonishment flow through her veins.

Although, it could have been because of the three men fighting in the field-turned-Coliseum.

One can guess who they were.

"This would work out so much better for Severus if he did more than cower in a corner," Hermione noted sadly as Snape curled up in the fetal position and rolled about on the grass.

"Where the hell did they get those swords?" Ron asked in a slightly amazed tone as Harry beat Voldemort over the head with the bejeweled handle of his rapier. Voldie stumbled about for a moment, regained his balance, and leapt on top of Harry, knocking him to the ground. It was then when he forced Harry's face into the grass, and started shoveling dirt into his mouth.

"For a third-party candidate, Harry sure does fight well," Bella noted as Harry started biting his opponent's knuckles.

"What happens when once of them wins?" asked Hermione, who was looking quite concerned as Snape struggled to climb over the side of the field. Harry noticed his escape attempt and jumped on his legs, inadvertently pulling down his trousers. Snape stood there, revealed in his pink polka-dotted boxer shorts, blushing for all the world to see.

"I'm not sure," muttered Bella while Ron roared with laughter. Voldemort was doing the same, and Harry took the opportunity to start beating him over the head with a large stick. Snape had gone back and hid in his corner. "But I do know one thing."

"And what's that?"

"Every election should be done this way."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: **Happy Election Day! Hopefully this managed to cure some stress, or stop the obsessive-checking-of-the-news-feed-to-see-who's-winning-now (not that _I'm _doing that…).


End file.
